


I May Have Punched Him

by beeayy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Fainting, Gen, Humor, Mild Peril, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Alexander Hamilton, Poor Aaron Burr, Rescue, Swearing, dad aaron burr, enemies to frenemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeayy/pseuds/beeayy
Summary: Burr is having trouble getting along with the newest TA in the Economics Department.
Relationships: Aaron Burr & Alexander Hamilton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TesIsAMess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TesIsAMess/gifts).



“Professor, it’s 9:10,” a student asked—like fifteen students hadn’t already asked. Burr told himself this was better than those students that decided one kid sitting out in the hall meant that the door was locked and class was canceled.

But Burr gave her the same smile as all the others, and the same line: “I’ll go see if he’s wrapping up.” And, yeah, he’d check all right. He’d check Hamilton into next semester. Being the new golden graduate student of the Economics Department and a sucker for punishment, taking the 8:00 AM Monday-Wednesday-Friday slot, did not give him license to go over time. Every day. For six weeks. Burr had fifty minutes to deliver his lectures, like everyone else. If Hamilton couldn’t wrap it up in that amount of time he should have picked Tuesday-Thursday. He strode in the classroom and tried to keep his tone tactful, but insistent:

“Professor Hamilton, sir.”

He probably should have waited for a good opening, but he’d been waiting for ten minutes. He saw his carefully-timed lecture disintegrating away.

Hamilton, however, looked—radiant. Which was literally insane, given the man was short and not very good looking and only teaching Economics 101. He stood in the center of the room with every student’s eye glued on him even before Burr shouted his name. Hamilton looked at him like they hadn’t had this exact same exchange every Monday-Wednesday-Friday since there were still leaves on the trees.

Hamilton said, “One second.”

And then he gave Burr _the finger._ Well, not _the_ finger—but he raised his pointer finger like Burr was a waiter. Or like Burr was interrupting him, when really, Hamilton was technically interrupting his class at this point. He kept holding up that finger as he engaged in rapid-fire debate with a student in the front row. Burr didn’t really catch what it was about: for being a Term Professor in the same department as Hamilton, economic theory wasn’t really his thing. Hamilton’s speech sounded like they always did: ‘blah blah shareholders blah blah fiscal acuity blah blah blah.

Then he said, “A power over a man’s subsistence amounts to a power over his will,” and everyone kind of sat down on their asses at that. Why he’d drop a line like that in a freshman course Burr would never know. But in that moment—well, maybe he wouldn’t grace the cover of a magazine, but in that moment he looked like he could rule the world.

After a pause (for dramatic effect, probably), Hamilton took a deep breath to continue, and Burr decided this was way, way too much to try to handle before lunchtime.

“HAMILTON!” Burr snapped.

Hamilton startled—clearly having forgotten Burr was there. “What?”

“My class started fifteen minutes ago. This is my classroom.”

“I’m still teaching.” He was clearly more annoyed about being interrupted than anything.

“Yes. I’ve been waiting for you to finish.”

“Oh.” Hamilton glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of students outside. “What’s the class, Business Admin? They won’t mind waiting a few more minutes.” He turned back to the class.

…So, Burr figured he didn’t really _mean_ this as an insult. Because that would be really, really stupid. Hamilton maybe had a big mouth but Burr knew how to thrown down. So—yeah, he took the bait.

He turned to the door and gave another big smile as he told his students, “Alright, come on in.”

Everyone started filing in, uncertainly at first but with more and more confidence as the crowd got bigger. Some of Hamilton’s students took the hint and left, but Hamilton still kept talking to the enraptured front rows, even as the new students sat down. Burr folded his arms and waited. Of course Hamilton couldn’t take a hint if it smashed him in the face. And, once Burr got to listening, it wasn’t like he wanted to stop, either

Hamilton was that teacher he never had in undergrad. The kind that you switched majors and signed inadvisable grad student contracts for. There was this…fire in his eyes. Burr felt like a moth in the presence of a candleflame.

“Hey uh, who’s class is this? You’re going over time.”

Hamilton and Burr looked up to see Professor Jefferson striding in the classroom doorway, eyes narrowed. Burr checked his phone—past ten already? His entire Wednesday lecture hour went up like Icarus’s wings.

Hamilton just checked his phone and pointed at Burr. “It’s his.”

Burr stared at him. “ _Mine?_ But--Okay, this is my class, but he’s the one that—”

He turned to gesture at Hamilton, and just saw the man’s blue coat disappear through the door.

“Don’t go over your time slot, Burr,” Jefferson said, muscling in as the new class of students started to pour in.

Burr’s fists clenched, but he forced a smile. “Right. Sorry.” He gathered his notes and walked calmly to the door, stepped outside, pressed his back to the cool hallway wall. He took a deep breath.

“ _HAMILTON!!!_...”


	2. Chapter 2

Burr sprinted across the plaza after Hamilton’s blue coat. He caught up just as Hamilton reached the steps to the student union building and jumped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Alright, what the fresh hell?” Burr demanded.

Hamilton, who had been typing away on his phone, looked up long enough to squint at Burr before turning his attention back to his phone. “I’d love to continue to discuss economic theory, but I have to see the Bursar. Excuse me.”

Hamilton somehow sidestepped Burr and hopped up the stairs.

“The Bursar's Office is in Student Services. Good.” Burr stomped after Hamilton and fell into step beside him. “We’ll stop by the Chair’s office, too. You can explain to Washington why you keep going overtime and stealing my classroom.”

“You said you were happy to wait.”

“I did not!”

“You said you were waiting for me to finish, and then you smiled. I sort of assumed.”

…Burr decided he would kill the man. Make it look like an accident. People got away with murder every day. “...What are you writing?”

Hamilton hadn’t looked up from his phone yet. “Emailing that student. Finishing my thought on economic morality.” He lowered his phone, enough that Burr could see the entire screen filled with words. “Wait. Are you Aaron Burr?”

“…Last time I checked,” Burr sighed, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t know what he expected.

“Sure—right.” This made Hamilton laugh too for some reason. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You’ve known where to find me since the semester started.”

Hamilton ignored this. “You graduated in two years.”

“Yeah.” Burr waited for the inevitable congratulations and for Hamilton to stare at him in awe.

Hamilton just said, “The Economics Program takes four years to complete. It takes a lot of students five but if you take a full course-load—including a full complement of classes to teach—you can finish the program in three. That’s why I’m going to go talk to the bursar. I’ve written essays to the chair, the board of directors, my professors, and everyone I can find at Student Services. The Bursar was the only one that responded—it might have been an automatically generated email because all it did was list his office hours. I know I just started but I couldn’t possibly finish early without some overrides to take extra credit hours. Maybe if I take out some loans and pay for the entire program outright they won’t ask too many questions? Of course I promised them four years of teaching, which is bullshit. I’m not going to be paid worse than minimum wage to teach for four years! That’s how they trap you—give you a little raise at the end of four years of service and you’re stuck thinking it’s the best you can get. To make a career you have to be running out of the gate or you never get out. And people do graduate faster. You did. I’m not going to end up an adjunct professor with no job security, living semester to semester. I’m going to write about economic theory for presidents and CEOs. And I don’t think it’s fair to hold students back just to get some cheap labor for an inner-city campus.”

All that, non-stop. Hamilton finally paused for breath, and when he turned to Burr his expression was far from star-struck. It was hungry. “So, how did you graduate so fast?”

…Well, that was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. It was also like watching an old home video of his own career’s trajectory. He could speak from personal experience about how much employment semester-by-semester sucked. “You really want to know?” he snapped. “Talk less, smile more.”

Hamilton’s ears turned pink. “I’m taking a shortcut to the Bursar’s. You can meet me there.” He darted down an alleyway.

Burr laughed at this display of almost cartoonish affront, and followed him. “Oh, is it something I said?”

Hamilton’s shoulders hunched. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Yeah, well, karma.”

“I never made fun of you.”

“What do you call throwing me under the bus in front of Jefferson and making me a laughingstock?”

“Neither was intentional.”

“That doesn’t matter. You should consider the consequences of what you say.”

Hamilton glared. “I thought you were fine with me using your classroom.”

“I was _trying_ to be polite—”

“Well, maybe you should stop pretending to be something you’re not. Stand up for yourself next time.”

Burr scoffed, not quite sure what else to do with this information. “Wow, you are a _complete_ asshole! No wonder no one wants to help you—!”

“You’re a complete pushover. No wonder you can’t help yourself—!”

”Hey!”

Burr and Hamilton turned at the sound of the new voice in the alley, snapping, “What?” at the same time.

“Hate to interrupt, but give me your wallets. Now.”

Burr looked the man over, from the grubby coat to the big muscles to the very very large switchblade in his hands, and realized what was happening.

Of course the university warned about crime in the area. This was an urban campus. Burr had a kid to think about and kept to his usual well-lit paths around campus. There was definitely a reason _no one but an idiot like Hamilton took this stupid alleyway shortcut_ , for the love of—

The mugger grabbed Burr’s jacket, and the panic was like a punch in the gut. He froze up. He was an Economics professor, the worst thing he’d had pointed at him was probably a calculator, or one of his daughter’s crayons.

Hamilton just picked up a piece of PVC pipe in the alleyway and swung it at the mugger.

Both Burr and the mugger ducked. When the mugger started to recover Hamilton punched the man in the face. In seconds Hamilton and the mugger were in a sort of fencing match, with Hamilton’s ferocity and speed the only reason he was holding his ground against a knife. Burr for his part watched his life flash before his eyes and wondered who would take care of Theodosia if he got stabbed to death in this alley. Or, you know, taken out by an errant swing of Hamilton’s PVC.

The knife buried in the sleeve of Hamilton’s coat, but Burr was the one that yelped (he couldn’t help it! He hated jump scares and horror movies and anything unexpected, he was going to _kill_ Hamilton for this if the mugger didn’t). Hamilton wrenched his arm away and the switchblade went flying, cutting a nick across Hamilton’s cheek in the process.

Then the tiny annoying stuck-up know-it-all grad student straight up _roared_ at the mugger—oh wow, Hamilton wasn’t actually all that small, was he? He looked huge and scary and 100% like he could ruin your day—and the mugger fled for dear life.

Burr stayed flat against the wall while Hamilton caught his breath.

“…What the hell was that?” he demanded, once he got his heart rate under control.

Hamilton gave him the finger again, and this time Burr waited patiently as his rescuer took a few deep breaths. “Not the first time someone’s tried to jump me,” he said finally. “I think that kid’s in my afternoon class...”

“Would you just—hold on a second? We almost died. We should be dead.”

“I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory,” Hamilton mused. Of course he’d say something like that. Burr rolled his eyes, but Hamilton just grinned and crowed loudly. “Woo! What a rush!” Then he wiped his cheek and saw the blood there. “Oh. That’s—my blood…”

He immediately fainted. Burr barely managed to catch him.

“Oh yeah,” he managed as he struggled under Hamilton’s weight. “This guy is non-stop....”


	3. Chapter 3

Hamilton opened his eyes. “This is your office.”

“Yeah,” Burr was squinting down at Hamilton’s phone. “It was closest. I’ve been trying to find an emergency contact, or a medical bracelet, or—”

“No,” Hamilton blinked slowly. “This is your office. Your office isn’t listed on any directory.”

“Yeah, that’s…weird that you know that…”

“It’s not. I noticed it pretty early. Clearly you’re hiding something.”

“I’m getting nervous.”

Hamilton sat up from where he was draped over Burr’s desk, looking completely fine. _Good thing I didn’t call an ambulance._ The young grad student pointed. “You have a corner office with huge windows.” He pointed again. “And room for a sofa—” He scrunched up his face. “Why didn’t you put me on the sofa?”

“Sofa’s for people that can keep their blood inside of their body,” Burr smirked.

Hamilton shoved off the desk with a glare. “This office is definitely worth hiding. You should be sharing it, at least. And I still haven’t been assigned one. I could stay here!”

“What?” Then Burr’s mind helpfully provided a nightmare where every room Burr walked into had a Hamilton being loud and opinionated already in it. ”Uh—no—”

“Relax, Burr,” Hamilton waved him off as he started poking around the office, mapping out real estate, “I’m hardly ever in the office. I hold office hours in the library. I just need somewhere to put my books and sleep during lunch.”

“No.”

“Your shelves could use more books!”

“Absolutely not.”

“And its much harder to steal an office from two people than one. It’s a good plan.” Hamilton shrugged and returned to perch on Burr’s desk. “Unless you’d prefer me to ask the chair of the Economics Department why you have a corner office all to yourself, I think he’s currently stuck in the basement….”

Burr scratched the back of his head, which was better than, say, flipping the table. “…Can we agree blackmail is absurd?”

“Sure. But hey, there’s always room for adjunct faculty like you in the group office!”

“…Okay, so we’re doing this…”

Suddenly Hamilton whirled on him. Burr, about ready to fake his own medical emergency to make Hamilton leave, found himself fixed in place. “Ask if you can buy me a drink.”

Burr felt heat climb up the back of his neck. He babbled, “Me? Buy a drink—for you?” Okay, did Hamilton not know how this worked?...

“Your grammar could use some work, but I accept.” He took his phone out of Burr’s unprotesting fingers and shoved it in his coat. “Let’s go! I’ll email everyone about the change in office…”

The bar in the student union building was mostly empty when they arrived—presumably. Burr didn’t actually know what it was like these days. He preferred, you know, actual restaurants these days. He suppressed a groan as they passed a group of grad students loudly discoursing something pretentious. Burr hurriedly ordered a couple of beers. “…Why am I buying a drink for you, again?”

“Burr,” Hamilton began, with the same fanfare as the Declaration of Independence, “You’re a better teacher than me.”

“Okay…”

“And I need your help making a point to my friends.” He cleared his throat. “Social choice theory is the worst branch of economic study, true or false?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Me! Pay attention, Burr! I would say ‘true’ but my friends—” he gestured to the grad students, “—wouldn’t agree.”

Burr glanced over at the students, who took no noticed of them. “…Those are your friends?”

“Well.” Hamilton’s ears turned pink but his face betrayed nothing. “They don’t actually know me yet. Do I look like the kind of guy that makes a lot of friends?...”

“No.”

“…Don’t answer that, I know what you’re going to say and it’s flattering, but I actually really really don’t.” He blinked. “Oh.”

Burr laughed. “I barely know you! And hey, grad student cliques _are_ notoriously hard to break into.”

“Right.” Hamilton tugged on his ponytail, which was a pretty endearing nervous tick at least. “But whenever I see them here they sit just over there and discuss their dissertations and they’re all. So. Awful!”

“Really? All of them?” Burr wasn’t sure he disagreed but there were three of them and only one of Hamilton.

“No, I mean, okay, some of the stuff is good, but—”

“Hey…!” one of the grad students said. He’d noticed them, and was eyeing Burr suspiciously.

“Oh God—” Burr turned away, pretending he didn’t see them, but it was too late.

“Well, if it ain’t the prodigy,” he said—Hercules Mulligan to be precise. Burr knew ever since they met (back when he was a grad student too) that _that_ couldn’t be the guy’s real name.

“Herc,” he managed, dialing back the murder eyes with a polite smile. “Remind me—is this year two of your attempts to advance to candidacy, or are you working on three?”

He took a drink as Mulligan’s pals jeered him. Hamilton for his part just sat there, ears very bright red now, squeezing his pint glass with white knuckles. Poor guy, he had it bad.

Then Mulligan was shouting over the others, “Hey hey! Maybe he can settle our argument!” He beckoned his friends over. “We were just discussing the liberal paradox and—”

“Mulligan, I have no more interest in being your study partner now than I did in school,” Burr said, smoothly.

“You don’t even have an opinion?” one of the others—Burr barely remembered him, maybe Lafayette?—whined.

“It doesn’t matter what my opinion is,” Burr said. He was having beer for lunch and the day was already getting way out of hand. He gave up pretending to be polite and waved them off. “I’m sure his committee will have plenty to say about it anyway.”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

Burr glanced at Hamilton. He was staring at Burr like he was crazy.

“Everyone has an opinion on the liberal paradox!” Hamilton yelped. “You have to—What’s the point of academia if you don’t actually contribute your thoughts to the greater body of human knowledge?”

Burr stared at him for a second, open-mouthed, then rolled his eyes and turned back to his beer. Whatever. Of course some newbie grad student would have an inflated sense of his own importance. Like anyone cared what his opinion was about anything—

“What’s your opinion, then?” Mulligan asked. He had his arms folded but was watching Hamilton closely.

Hamilton went red again, and Burr expected him to clam up, but then—it was like magic, or science fiction—he _shotgunned_ his entire beer and then teleported himself to the grad student table, loudly and excitedly discussing theory with all the enthusiasm he showed in the classroom. Mulligan and the others looked completely baffled. It was…adorable. Disturbing, yes. A little threatening, sure. But adorable.

_What the hell is he gonna become?_

“Yeah, good luck with that.” He dropped money on the table for the drinks, but something made him stay and listen for a bit. He made some good points. If you got past all the verbiage and florid enthusiasm, of course. He spouted words like he was getting paid for each one.

Yeah, anyone that wanted to see what this kid grew into would definitely have to wait for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I know nothing about Economics :( I do know that Burr needs to do whatever he can to keep that nice office of his!! Sorry dude.
> 
> Also I'm not sure how to tag it, since i'm not sure if they are going to be enemies to frenemies to platonic frenemies or romantic frenemies or what. Stay tuned I guess!


	4. Chapter 4

Burr decided to blame the rest of his horrible day on Hamilton. Having beer for lunch meant that he was late to his office hours, which meant he was late for a meeting which meant he was late for the bus and late picking Theodosia up from daycare, all of which culminated in a rushed dinner at the campus McDonalds rather than trying to cook anything at home. He bounced Theodosia on his hip, trying to head off the hunger tantrum that was coming as he scanned the app’s nutrition facts.

“I recommend the burger and fries,” Jefferson said behind him. He gave Burr a small (probably friendly) shoulder check before stepping ahead of him in line.

“Haha,” Burr said because Jefferson was gunning to become the new chair of the department and it never paid to have enemies. He squinted back at the menu, eventually placed his order, then rushed to the bathroom with Theodosia to perform some emergency repairs on her diaper. It only took a couple of seconds, and he returned to the pick-up counter to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

“You are not having a good day,” Jefferson observed as Burr tried to get the attention of cashier. “This place is a mess tonight—they gave me two of their mc-meal things—you want one?”

“No,” Burr said, “I mean—no thank you. Theodosia’s on a special diet.”

“Come on, Burr, what kind of people say no to a burger with extra tomatoes and ketchup?”

“People that are allergic to nightshades.”

“That would explain why you always steer clear of my tomato pound cake at the department Christmas party.”

“I pretty much tell you that every year, Jeff’. And tomato cake sounds horrible.”

“Oooh, somebody’s hangry.”

Burr forced a smile. He had to order such weird things off the menu—milk and apple slices, that kind of thing—and it would probably take a little while longer than usual, but not this long.

Then he heard it:

“Philip! Your milk’s getting warm!”

Hamilton’s voice had a way of carrying across a crowded room. Burr closed his eyes. Lots of people ordered milk. Just because Hamilton completely screwed over his day and just happened to be in the same restaurant, did not mean he had screwed over Burr again. That was an alignment of planets that Burr did not want to contemplate.

He looked over his shoulder anyway. Hamilton stood near the PlayPlace, shouting to a small boy doing laps in the ball pit. He held a tray containing milk and apple slices and two plain cheeseburgers.

Burr’s vision briefly went tomato red.

He slowly walked away from the counter, stalking Hamilton like a tiger stalked its prey.

“Hey.”

Hamilton blinked and turned to him. “Hey…?” He was probably confused by Burr’s oddly soft, restrained tone.

Burr pointed at the tray in his hands. “So.”

Hamilton blinked at the tray. “So?”

Burr tried a few expressions before settling on ‘perturbed.’ “That’s my tray.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You can’t have ordered the same thing as me.”

“I didn’t. Well, maybe I did, I don’t know what you ordered.”

“I ordered exactly what’s on that tray.”

He reached for the tray but Hamilton swung it out of reach, putting his free hand on his hip. “Is this about this morning? Because trying to steal a man’s dinner out of revenge is pretty low.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine! I give you permission to ‘steal mine’ back.” Hamilton gestured at the counter. “Be my guest.”

“I can’t steal yours, you probably didn’t order plain cheeseburgers, we’re allergic to nightshades and—”

“Dad!” The boy from the ball pit rushed up and immediately glued himself to Hamilton’s leg. He was a cute kid, all freckles with a little book made of construction paper and yarn tucked under his arm.

Hamilton immediately knelt and offered the tray. “Drink your milk, Philip.”

“Hey!”

But Burr was too late. The boy swiped the milk and pressed a hand into each cheeseburger, apparently to test for maximum squishiness, before grabbing one and sprinting back to the PlayPlace. Theodosia whined and kicked, and Burr, instead of shaking the small boy down for the stolen food, let Theodosia down to join him.

“Look just—say you’re sorry,” Burr decided with a sigh. “That’s all I want.”

“I don’t wanna fight, but I won’t apologize for getting my order right,” Hamilton said. He gave Burr a smile that pushed every cute aggression button in Burr’s nervous system. “But I have another tray coming to me, actually! You can have that. Nuggets and fries.”

“Let it go, Burr!” Jefferson called from his table.

Burr tried very very hard not to let it go. He’d end up tackling someone. “I can’t. Nuggets have paprika in them.”

“Well, have the fries, then.”

“WE'RE ALLERGIC TO NIGHTSHADES.”

“He’s allergic to nightshades,” Jefferson stage-whispered.

Burr glared daggers at him.

“Your constellations are aligned,” Jefferson said with a shrug. “Aquarius and Capricorn, right? They never get along and…oof, have you seen the horoscopes? You two are in for a rough month.”

“This is not because of a horoscope,” Burr seethed, “This is because Hamilton is a _idiot._ ”

“Hey!” Hamilton’s shoulders hunched. “What have you got against me? I tried to be nice to you, you know? Saving your life, taking you out for a drink—”

“I paid for your drink!—”

“Well, I didn’t point a gun at your chest and make you!”

“Just say you’re sorry!”

“No, you say sorry!”

A child’s wail cut through their yelling match. Hamilton whipped around with the speed only a father could show. Burr followed his gaze and saw Philip sitting on the ground crying while another child held aloft his construction-paper notebook. Burr blinked, and in the span of that blink Theodosia had crossed the PlayPlace and shoved the other child over. She immediately retrieved the notebook and returned it to Philip.

Burr was still speechless when Hamilton shoved past him and retrieved his kid. He just watched as Hamilton spoke to the guardian of the child that stole Philip’s notebook, then pointed through the glass right at Burr.

Burr hurried into the play area.

“—No harm done, Eacker,” Hamilton was saying to the parent, then, “Excuse me,” then Hamilton was grabbing Burr by the arm and dragging him over. “You,” he said, “have a cool daughter.”

“Uh.” Philip had stopped crying and was now showing Theodosia his notebook, which apparently delighted her enough to giggle and she wasn’t the kind of kid that giggled a lot. “Yeah,” he laughed nervously. “Uh, she knocks me out sometimes, too. Sorry.” He winced, but the father of the child she punched waved off his apologies.

“What did you say you guys were having for dinner?” Hamilton said. “Let me get it for you.”

Burr was definitely going red. “Look, it’s fine—”

“Dad!” Philip ran up and re-glued himself to Hamilton’s leg. “Dad! I want Theodosia to come to my birthday party!”

Hamilton spread his hands at Burr like, ‘How do you say no to a kid that outshines the morning sun?’

Burr gulped. This was getting out of hand. “I really don’t—”

“Can I go, daddy?” Theodosia, copying Philip perfectly, latched onto Burr’s leg. It was a good move. When face with three sets of puppy-dog eyes he wasn’t completely certain how he was expected to refuse.

“Well—when is it?...”

“It’s settled,” Hamilton said. “I’ll send you an email! Let me get your dinner—would you watch Philip for me?—”

Burr did not have a chance to respond before Hamilton dashed back towards the line. Burr blinked, then looked down at Theodosia.

“What did you get us into?”

Theodosia just giggled.

Sure enough, that night he got an email with all the party details. Hamilton signed it, “I have the honor to be your obedient servant,” which was a bit much just for his daughter getting protective on the playground. Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to milk Hamilton’s guilty conscience a _little_. Was that amoral?....

Eh. He’d done worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The American History inside-joke is Jefferson irl supposedly liked to eat tomatoes in front of people who thought they were poisonous.


End file.
